Eighty Years...Will We Still Remember in Eighty More

 There seems to be a lot of attention being paid to the events that occurred in France eighty years ago today. I suppose, as it is an anniversary that ends in "0," it helps make the anniversary more meaningful. There's another reason, though. It's the last time any surviving veterans of that day will attend an anniversary that ends in "0." 

In ten years, they'll all be gone. 

That may not be entirely true. People do live past 110 on occasion. And they would have to live that long to hit the ninetieth anniversary of D-Day.

Surviving veterans will number in the tens, if at all.

My father enlisted at 18-years old in 1945. He was part of a B-17 bomber group over Germany. Earlier this year I found his crew, his planes, and the missions...information I never knew. I looked up everyone in the group. They all survived the war, but they're all gone now. I believe my father was the first of the group to go.

Because I never had the opportunity to speak to him about his time in the army, I have a connection to that war, but more in my mind...my imagination. Today, many who not only survived the hell on those beaches, but all the years since, returned to France. They survived living day to day, cheating death month after month, year after year while many of their loved ones did not.

I'm proud that my father served in that conflict as did millions of others. Whenever I see a picture of a B-17, I think of him. It's a beautiful plane...my personal favorite. It's a symbol of a price paid.

 We remember eighty years ago today. Will we remember the day in another eighty years? Few of us will be around--I certainly will not be--but I hope those living will honor the day in a way it deserves to be honored.

Remembering Veterans...

 Veterans Day...

The day has always brought mixed fillings for me. One the one hand, there's nothing I can say or do to re-pay the sacrifice others did so me and my family can live the life we have. Thankfully, we can honor them for those sacrifices. Today's the day set aside for such remembrances.

There should be more days like today.

But, on the other hand, there's loss, and not just because many who have served are no longer with us. My father passed away when I was a child. Not once did I ever speak to my father about the times when he served. As I've aged, those experiences mean more and more to me. I went through my teenage years without his knowledge and experience. When I was the age my father went to war, I entered a different from of service, but instead of facing the very real possibility of death, I encountered hatred, bigotry, discrimination...hardly the same thing.

I grew up and live today the son of a veteran, the nephew of many veterans--all of them now gone. 

On this day, friends and family post pictures and memories of loved ones who served. I do the same, almost every year. I'm jealous of those who were able to know their veterans on a deeper level, a personal one, while all I have is a handful of grainy black and white photos of my father and the strangers who served with him. Even though it's not much, I cherish the pictures. They mean the world to me.

Give Thanks...Honoring Those Who Flew

I saw the ad weeks ago, an ever-increasingly rare opportunity to see up close a vintage aircraft, but not just any planes, symbols of war and the quest to end a war.

No, I did not go. 

The planes, a B-17 and a B-25 were on display at the Logan Airport for a week. I had seven days to drive the twenty or so miles east (and a little north...) to see the planes. For several hundred dollars, I could have flown in one. Since we moved, traveling over the mountain into the next county has been an almost weekly event. Since gas prices have exploded and will likely go higher, like many of us, we've begun analyzing these casual trips...wondering if we really need to go.

On Friday, while out, I spotted the B-17 flying almost directly overhead. I heard the prop engines first, a sound you don't hear everyday. I snapped a short video of the plane thinking I might get to see it close up in a matter of hours.

Then, I thought about why I was going, and decided against it.

I'm not shy about telling whoever is interested (and even if they're not...) about my dad, that he was part of a B-17 crew during WWII over Germany. Thinking about going to see the plane, I could imagine myself looking up, taking picture after picture, and casually telling people, "That's my dad's plane." I might even get to talk to those in charge, those responsible for keeping the flying museums airborne and let them know as well.

I've had the opportunity of seeing one of these incredible machines up close. Years ago my friend and I drove to the Salt Lake Airport when one was parked there for the same reason...giving people rides. My friend and I actually got to climb inside. I still remember the feelings I had looking at that small space, the minimal surroundings, what horrors those brave men went through thousands of feet in the air.

No, I didn't need to go to get more pictures, to tell people my dad survived the war as a tail gunner in a B-17. I didn't need to go to somehow raise my status in the eyes of strangers. No, I stayed home and thought about the plane and the men who flew, their families who support them, and the people who still fly so that we may never forget. I'm grateful to those men, those families, those planes...

And I pray as few people as possible will ever do it again.

Veterans Day...2020

 I can't imagine the kind of life my father lived growing up. Born in 1924, spent his teens during the Great Depression, enlisted in WWII. Came home, got his degree, became a deputy sheriff, an engineer, a judge, a husband and a father.

He was one of thousands who served his country, and another who is no longer with us.

I've written of my father many times on this blog--perhaps more than any other single person.

And I'll most likely keep doing it.

Today, our country honors those who served. They lived a life and paid a price we can't understand. I'll be forever grateful to them for it.

The National Geographic Channel's "The Mighty Eighth"...

I came across the show by accident last week, but it was almost over. So, I set the DVR to record it when it came on again. Today I watch it.

I'm glad I did.

It was the National Geographic Channel's The Mighty Eighth; Heroes of the Sky. 

There's been books written, movies filmed, documentaries made about the battles over the skies of Europe during World War Two. I watched the program with interest, you see, my father was one of those tens of thousands of soldiers who went to England and thankfully, he returned.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to ever talk to him about his experiences, and maybe he wouldn't even want to discuss it, but I think there would be some details he could tell his children about. He passed away when I was eight-years old, and a child had other things on his mind to ask his father.

The majority of the documentary focused on the problems the Eighth Air Corp had between 1942 and 1944 when they suffered huge losses. My father enlisted and was sent oversees in 1944, near the end of the war. I don't even know how many missions he flew, and being a tail gunner on a B-17, I wonder if he had any stories of engaging the enemy.

This weekend, we turn our attention to those who serve and bled and died for us. It's a debt that forever remains unpaid, because there's no way for us to repay it. Thanks Dad, for all you did, and thanks to the others who did the same.

Hell From Heaven...

Last night, as we headed out to pick up our daughter, I looked west and was blessed to see another amazing Utah spring sunset. 

I snapped a picture.

It wasn't until I added it to Instagram that the words, "Hell From Heaven" popped into my head. To me, it's what the picture looked like. Those three words mean something else to me, and to several other people.

They're the words that were on my father's B-17, his plane that flew over Germany in WWII.

It wasn't until I was an adult that I found the pictures and learned a little about the plane and its crew. My father had passed some thirty years earlier. I never tried reaching out to any of the crew members then, and it's even more unlikely any of them are still alive today. Their stories and the stories my father knew have passed with them. Hopefully, one day I'll get to hear them.

When I took the picture last night, it wasn't one of the most spectacular sunsets we've had. I wasn't even sure if I'd use it for anything. But, when I posted it to Instagram, it made me think of my dad, and that made me think of his plane, and that made me think about all the things associated with that.

Hell From Heaven...it fits the picture. And I'm sure, as those kids (basically...) were flying in that rickety plane, it did fell like hell. I have so much respect for them every time I think about what they did. Thanks dad, and everyone else who served.

Dad In Uniform...For Memorial Day 2018

I've shared all these photos before. But since it's Memorial Day, I wanted to honor my father again. I don't have many pictures of my dad--I think these are my favorites.

My father served near the end of WWII in Europe. He was a tail gunner on a B-17, something that garners much respect when I tell servicemen familiar with just how dangerous that particular duty station was.



I think I love these pictures so much because of the unknowns. I never had the opportunity to talk to my father about what happened, never asked him what it was like to be in that flying soup can, never discussed whether or not he was scared, or if he even saw action. The unknowns haunt me and so I imagine what it must have been like.

I know I'm probably imagining only positive things. From what I've been told, many veterans don't like talking about their experiences, and perhaps I'm romanticizing his adventures, making them more than I should. Still, without having the opportunity to hear it from the man himself, and since most likely everyone of his B-17 crew is now gone, I've only got the memories of others as a reference.



I've shared all these photos before. But considering what these men and women did so that I could live the life I've lived, fewer things are more important. Happy Memorial Day Dad, and everyone who served and sacrificed for all of us.

Photos From A Busy Saturday...

Yesterday was one of those days.

Busy.

Very busy.

Last night, after spending most of the day in a car or in a store or in my in-law's house, I sat down and chose a Pic Of The Day photo. I decided on a picture of a beautiful B-17 flying overhead, but it could have been something else, like a counter full of pizzas, a advertisement for sporks, or a bottle of flax oil--Super Lignan (whatever that is...).

It's amazing how many things you see on a busy day.

Saturday is the day of the week we buy groceries. Thanks to the incredible time in which we live, we order our groceries on-line, then just pick them up. It saves a lot of time. I don't know if I could have afforded the several hours it would have taken me to get the groceries myself. There was just too much to do.

Not only that, we also dropped off and picked up our daughter from dance. After dance and groceries, we ordered lunch and went to my in-laws because we had family in town from California. Always love hanging with the fam, catching up, and eating good food. That's a win-win-win in my book.

After leaving the mini family reunion, we rested, but not for long. Our daughter had a dance to go to at night--not a dance rehearsal like she did in the morning, but an event where she could put all that dance practice to good use. Driving home my wife remembered a wedding reception of a neighbor, so we changed and drove over. At last, after picking up my daughter from her dance (it was at the church where we saw the cry room which became yesterday's blog post topic...), I could finally sit down, write my blog post, select my Pic Of The Day and relax from the day that was.

I took several pictures--at one of the stores, at the in-laws, at the church, and at a plane while waiting at a red light. I could have taken pictures at several other stores, at the place where I picked up the pizzas, at the wedding reception, but I didn't. I guess I forgot. It's amazing how many things you see on a busy day.